


something monstrous in your eyes

by goldtreesilvertree, mothwrites



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Multi, arum's not a furry but he's not a coward, mild violence/descriptions of injuries, rad bouquet, rated Teen for the implication of werewolf dick, there are so many human!arum fics we're making up the difference, they both love damien So Much, werewolf kissin' tuesday
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:47:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22246564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldtreesilvertree/pseuds/goldtreesilvertree, https://archiveofourown.org/users/mothwrites/pseuds/mothwrites
Summary: Damien asks the Keep to create him a portal that will take him to the edge of the swamp. He intends to take himself to a cave he favours, far enough away from any villages that the sounds he creates will be merely ghost stories, if anything at all. He has planned everything perfectly, or so he thinks.
Relationships: Lord Arum/Sir Damien/Rilla (Penumbra Podcast)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 145





	something monstrous in your eyes

**Author's Note:**

> lottie: "if you rate this T for the implication of werewolf dick, at some point we're going to have to write the werewolf dick"  
> moth: "coward"  
> lottie: "i'm not a coward, i'm just not a furry"
> 
> also lottie: "every day i'm lizard kissin', tktktktktktk!"

A knight and a doctor’s schedules are unpredictable enough that Damien doesn’t usually have to think twice about stealing away for one night a month. Although his stomach still flutters and churns with guilt when Amaryllis takes his lie in with a kiss and a distracted smile, he doesn’t find any reason to believe that this moon will not go as smoothly as usual. When he returns, she will listen to his stories and bandage his wounds and they will fall back into their comfortable rhythm. There is Arum, now, of course - his heart swells amidst the guilt and anxiety to think of the beautiful lily that has been added to their bouquet – but Arum never inquires too much into his knightly duties, and they all know why. Everything will be fine. Saint Damien willing – _Saint Damien where have you gone_ _,_ _why did you forsake me_ _-_ there is no reason for either of them to suspect. 

And it is certainly easier now they are distracted with each other. He employs a poet’s smile and honeyed words to murmur to Arum about how _radiant_ their Rilla looks amid certain glowing flowers of the Keep, and then chuckles into Rilla’s ear about Arum’s strength as he builds his contraptions in the workshop, and all at once they are too busy with each other to notice him slipping away. It is an unbelievably lovely sight, and he is sorry to slip away. He is sorry for a lot of things. 

But slip away he does. Damien asks the Keep to create him a portal that will take him to the edge of the swamp. He intends to take himself to a cave he favours, far enough away from any villages that the sounds he creates will be mere ghost stories if they are heard at all. He has planned everything perfectly, or so he thinks. 

“Honeysuckle.” 

Arum has never spoken so cautiously to him. But then Damien has never lied to his face before. 

Damien falters. “Arum. I- I thought we had an agreement on this. We do not follow each other into battle, or.... business.” 

“For my safety,” Arum says, lip curling unpleasantly around the word, “and your reputation. Of course. But I thought we told each other the truth about our journeys. Or was I mistaken?"

Damien’s hand is on the reins of his horse. He feels cursed energy flow through him, making him want to run. “I haven’t lied to you,” he says, trying to act affronted. “I told you, the knights have been called-” 

“Marc says differently.” Arum cuts him off, but he doesn’t seem angry, not yet. Just a face of horrible _concern._ "He mentioned that you had specifically taken these two nights for yourself.” 

“I-” Damien blusters, then lets the irritation come through, although entirely in the wrong way. “Are you two _friends_ now, to conspire against me so?” 

_“Tktktktktk.”_ Arum frills in response, matching Damien’s irritation naturally and easily. “I would not say friends. I would also not say _conspire._ He mentioned it in passing, and...” His eyes narrow into slits. “You are so distrustful of me?” 

“You did just follow me out here,” Damien shoots back. “Perhaps it I who you do not trust.” He bites back the _friend lizard_ that was replaced so very recently with _my lily, my love._ Arum reaches a hand towards him and he does not take it. The claws take up his wrist gently, and Damien frowns at him in confusion. 

“You did this last month,” Arum says, halting and cautious again. He hates this look on him. “And when you returned you had these... wounds. On your wrists. As if from chains.” 

Damien snatches his hand back. “You are mistaken. I was on an errand for her Majesty-” 

“Did someone hurt you?” Arum interrupts, trying to pull him close again. Then, softer: “Are you truly going back to them?” 

Damien almost breaks down at that, but the cursed energy in him is flowing stronger with the setting of the sun. He _must_ leave. “You are mistaken,” he says again. “Please return home. I will be back in the evening with quite a tale for you both, I’m sure.” He is sure. He began composing it days ago. “Please, my lily.” 

Arum looks as if he wants to throw Damien over his shoulder and carry him home with him, but he relents, claws curling gently around his wrist before dropping his hand, and the subject. 

“Until tomorrow, then.” 

Damien makes himself smile, and leans forward to press a kiss to Arum’s cheek. “Until tomorrow, my love.” He’s up on the horse before Arum can say anything more. 

* 

He can tell Rilla’s been worrying from the moment he steps into the Keep, and the way he is favouring his right leg will do nothing to reassure her as she ducks under his arm. 

“Damien, what did you do?” She draws his arm around her, trying to draw some of his weight onto her narrow shoulders. 

He knows his smile is weak, but it’s the best he can give her right now. “My love,” he greets, hoping his voice isn’t too hoarse. “You did not have to wait up for me, you know that.” 

“ _You_ know I love seeing you come home,” she retorts, “whatever state you’re in. What _happened?”_ she repeats, warm brown eyes searching for something in his own. 

“A thrilling tale, I assure you,” Damien says as she leads him to a surprisingly comfortable vine-moulded bench. It had _better_ be thrilling. He’d been working on it the whole journey back. “But I will not tire you further when I am sure you have already been burning the midnight oil.” He presses a kiss to her hair and inhales as she leans over him to inspect the claw marks on his back. The familiar scent is as soothing as chamomile. “Sleep, my love. I’ll join you when I’ve bathed.” 

“You need medical attention.” Rilla’s eyes are scanning the already-healing gouges. “These could be infected already. Don’t try and send me to bed when you need a healer.” 

“I’m perfectly capable,” he insists. The marks will be half-gone by the morning anyway and he’ll blame it on the imaginary creature’s magic. But she is already undressing him and fetching salves and bandages, and he doesn’t have the energy to argue. It was a rough night. Rougher than he’d had in _months_. 

“What kind of monster leaves you like this?” Rilla demands, squeezing cold water over the wounds on his back to his hissed winces. “Even at the World’s Edge, I didn’t see anything get this close. Where was Angelo?” 

“On a different quest,” he lied smoothly. “From the reports in the village we had no idea this monster would be such a difficult kill, so we thought we’d split our resources.” Angelo will cover for him. He always does and never asks why, saints bless him. He takes Rilla’s hand in his for a moment. “Please do not worry yourself, my flower. I have faced far worse than this, you know that. It is my duty.” 

Unexpectedly, he feels her forehead bump against the back of his own, even as her quick hands busy themselves with bandages. “We can’t lose you, Damien.” 

The guilt threatens to overwhelm his as he turns around to see an unexpected tear in her eye. “Never,” he promises, voice hushed and reverent. Above being a knight, above anything else, his sole duty is to remain by Rilla’s side. And – and their new love’s. It was only due to Arum’s comments about his wrists that he had loosened the shackles, giving his monstrous form more access to the only thing it could fight – himself. Damien doesn’t see Arum around and thinks he must have gone to bed. He is relieved to only have to lie to one of them at a time. 

“Don’t you know I will always come home to you?” He asks as she stays quiet, and presses a hand to her cheek. “To you both?" 

She won’t look at him. “If you keep getting hurt like this, you can’t promise me that.” 

Damien is tired. Bone-tired. The exhaustion seeps through his voice without his permission. “You knew who I was when you agreed to marry me,” he reminds her. 

_But she didn’t,_ a slavering, traitorous voice says in his head. _And neither did you._

He would not have asked her, had the bite come before. He would never, _ever_ have tied her to this. 

“Just- be more careful?” she says, and sweet saints above, her tone is _pleading._ “Your injuries... I’d say they’d been getting worse, if you hadn’t been healing so fast.” 

“A testament to your skills, my love.” He offers her that same weak smile again. “To bed, now?” 

“To bed,” she agrees, sounding resigned. “I don’t think we’ll tear Arum away from the library tonight, though. He’s in a frenzy of research over _something._ ” Damien is too tired to imagine what. 

If it wasn’t the middle of the night, if she wasn’t clearly also exhausted, he’d never get away with lying to her. But they are both half-asleep already, and Rilla herself would say sleep is the best medicine for healing. He lets her settle into his arms, and tries not to think of it as betraying her. 

* 

Damien is in the process of shackling himself to the cave wall when he hears the familiar, rasping tick of Arum’s disapproval. He stands at the entrance to the cave, staring at him with those piercing eyes until Damien is too ashamed to meet his gaze. 

“When were you bitten?” Arum asks him curtly. 

Damien’s face is burning. His fingers shake over the locks. “Almost eight months ago,” he says. Eight months of this, this _curse._ This deception. He cannot look him in the eye. 

“You’ve told no-one?” 

Damien laughs, and the wolf laughs with him. It is almost sunset. “How could I? A fellow knight would arrest me, or more likely take my head as a trophy. And Rilla...” Rilla would abandon him like his saint did on that terrible night. Or worse, she would refuse to. She would follow him, as Arum has followed him, without her own monstrous claws to keep her safe. He shivers so violently at the thought that his chains rattle. 

“Amaryllis has shown herself capable of loving monsters before.” 

Damien jerks his head up to look at him at that. He knows that his eyes must have already turned yellow, as Arum starts in surprise. “ _This is different.”_ The wolf twists his lilting poet’s voice into a harsh growl. 

“Explain it to me, then, _tktktktktk_ ,” Arum snaps. “Explain to me why you _lied._ Why you expect me to play along with your deception when you keep Amaryllis up all night in fear, when you _torture_ yourself like this-” 

“A Knight of the Citadel _cannot_ be a monster!” His voice is almost a howl. The change is coming too quickly. 

“You will not be a Knight of anything for much longer if you continue to _mutilate_ yourself like this,” Arum says. He starts to fuss over the locks and chains. “Do you think I’m a fool, honeysuckle? That I would not recognise a werewolf’s claw marks when I saw them?” His voice becomes gentler, even next to his rage. “That I would not want to _help_?” 

“No-one can help. If there _was_ a cure-” 

“You do not need a cure.” Arum exhales an accomplished sigh as his claws click into the lock just _so,_ and Damien is freed. “You only need space to run and game to hunt. And then you _need_ to tell Amaryllis.” 

“People could get hurt. _Rilla_ could get hurt. I would never endanger those I'm sworn to protect.” 

Arum _tsks. “_ I will not let you touch anything other than deer, honeysuckle. Perhaps the occasional alligator.” He pulls the chains off from around Damien’s arms. He is still angry, Damien can tell – his frill still flares when he looks at the scars around his torso. But there is concern in his violet eyes too, and _love_. That love that is still so new and precious it makes the wolf stutter and Damien’s breath catch in his throat. 

“I am far more practiced at being a monster, after all,” Arum continues. “Can you trust me to look after you?” 

_No._ Damien is too used to this secret being his to carry alone, but... the burden grows too heavy, without even the saints to cry out to. “Yes.” The word tears itself from his jaws, unwilling and mangled. 

Arum kisses his forehead, where his hair is already starting to grow long and wild. “My brave little knight,” he sighs. “Do not hide yourself from me. I told you from the start, did I not?” He brushes a gentle claw along a silver scar on Damien’s collarbone. “I knew I saw something monstrous in your eyes.” 

A soft whine creeps from his throat as Arum presses his own brow to Damien’s, but the bloodlust, the roiling sense of entrapment, do not emerge. There is only the cold silver of moonlight, and Arum’s claws against his fur. 

“Run with me, little wolf,” Arum says, and they do. 

* 

Damien collapses in Arum’s arms at dawn. He exhales exhaustion with the rising of the sun but for once his very bones do not ache with injury or shame. It’s merely the comfortable soreness of good exercise, as if he’d gone a few rounds with Angelo in the tilting yard. His nails are filthy but there is no blood caked in under there, nor any running down his back. And he is not alone. That is the best thing of all. 

“Now you must tell Amaryllis,” Arum says. “Today.” 

The words are ice-water over his half-dreaming head. “I can’t- I don’t know how.” 

“You must. I will not lie for you.” Arum helps him to his feet with two hands and dusts him down with another, unsubtly checking for injuries. He pulls away, satisfied with his observations. “You can walk, I trust?” 

“I will manage,” he retorts, surly now, and desperately scrabbling for a convenient excuse. “This could place her in grave danger-” 

“No more so than I could,” Arum retorts. 

“It is _different_ for you, Arum,” he snaps. “You can control yourself, you would never hurt her by accident-” 

Arum shrugs. It’s a casual gesture, but there is sorrow in his voice as he says: “I have hurt her before. And she has forgiven me. As she will forgive you.” He stops walking and places a hand on Damien’s shoulder. “No power on earth could tear Amaryllis from your side, honeysuckle. Though I don’t think she’ll take kindly to your deception,” - he ignores Damien’s wince at the word - “she will be more relieved to finally _understand._ As I was.” 

He shakes his head, fear clasping a cold hand around his heart: “If she doesn’t understand- if this drives her away- I can’t lose her!” 

“It will _not._ You will only drive her away if you keep _lying_ and _hurting yourself.”_ Arum stops himself mid-growls, inhales deeply, and lets it out. He looks as exhausted as Damien feels – but of course he’s been up all night too. The guilt grows again. 

_The werewolf should have killed me,_ he thinks. 

“I will not tell her myself,” Arum continues. “But I will _not_ lie for you. Not when she is so worried. Amaryllis loves me,” he says, and it sounds new and uncertain and beautiful, a spring shoot of a declaration. “She will love this part of you as well. She will love it as I do.” 

This stops Damien in his tracks. 

“You... You can _love_ this?” His own revulsion coils in his stomach, nauseating, but Arum’s violet eyes contain nothing but uncertain tenderness. 

“Of course I can,” he says, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world. “Of course I _do_ _–_ oh, honeysuckle.” Arum pulls Damien in close with all four arms. He inhales deeply at the crook of Damian’s neck, _s_ _centing_ him in what both Damien and the wolf now understand is a loving, _primal_ thing. “You are an _exquisite_ creature,” he says, and his voice is... _husky_. 

He can feel his face heating up even as he relaxes into Arum’s arms, allowing himself to be held. “People aren’t supposed to- It's meant to be a _curse-”_

_“_ And since when have we followed tradition?” Arum scoffs. He breathes deeply again, tongue flicking against the sweat on Damien’s neck. “You still smell of the hunt. If we were not both so tired... Well.” He chuckles lowly, and it pulls at something in the base of Damien’s spine. “Another time.” 

“Blood and filth and _failure,”_ Damien says bitterly despite the sudden heat. “Nothing a Knight of the Citadel is supposed to represent.” 

“My senses are keener than yours, little human,” Arum laughs. “I’ll convince you of your beauty yet.” He pulls back with two arms on Damien’s shoulders to study him. “Are you ready to go back?” 

“Would you be ready to face fair Rilla’s anger?” he retorted, drily. 

Arum mock-shivers. “Never, but don’t tell _her_ that.” He scoops out a handful of earth from a drawstring pouch at his belt and throws it to the ground. “Keep, take us home.” 

The shimmering, vine-ringed portal appears before them, and Arum unfortunately pulls him through _before_ he can register the radiantly furious Amaryllis beyond. 

“Found him,” Arum says deadpan. 

Rilla folds her arms. Always a bad sign. “And it took all night?” 

Damien wants to be sick. He looks desperately to Arum for a way out, but all four of his arms are crossed too. “He found me at sunset,” he says haltingly. “I... I had to stay away, until now.” 

“Really.” Rilla’s gaze flickers between them, ire flickering in those usually-warm brown eyes. “What was so terrible you couldn’t even tell _me,_ Damien?” 

“Hear him out,” Arum says, collapsing onto the nearest couch. He holds up two hands in defense when Rilla rounds on him. “I made sure he was unharmed, Amaryllis.” 

To Damien: “ _Tell me._ Tell me where you go every month, why you come back clawed up and blee d ing out-” she stops suddenly, her eyes narrowing. “He’s right. You seem... better than usual. _Why?”_

_“_ I- I was afraid to endanger you...” He can’t meet her eyes., can’t see the grief and rage his lies have caused for the woman he loves. “I didn’t think it was safe for you to know.” 

Arum winces. 

“That’s the stupidest thing you’ve ever said to me, Damien, and that’s saying a _lot. Tell me.”_

Damien swallows. _Saint Damien, you left me months ago now but I beg of you, your tranquility..._ “Eight months ago,” he says quickly, trying to get it out before he can stop himself again. “You remember I came home having bested a, a...” _Saints, what had he made it out to be at the time? “_ A wyvern? I had a bite on my shoulder... You can still see the scar...” _Silver and terrible as moonlight._

“I remember.” She rests her hand on his shoulder, only half-covering the scar. “I’d never seen a bite like that, but you wouldn’t let me look at it properly.” 

“For good reason,” he says, flinching back. He meets Arum’s eyes across from her and it gives him courage. “I lied, Rilla. There was no wyvern – oh, how I wish it had been something that simple – nothing so mundane. Not a wyvern, but a _wolf_ that bit me. And when I struck it with an arrow, it...” He flounders, hands curling into fists as he remembers the horror that dawned on him that night in the forest. 

“It?” Rilla asks, gentler now. 

He meets her gaze and she understands him before he says anything. He knows this because he sees that same horror creep into her eyes. “It turned into a man,” he says. 

Her hand tightens reflexively on his shoulder. “ _Damien,”_ she breathes. “And you didn’t think to _tell_ me? I could have helped you!” 

He sinks to his knees. “I didn’t even want you to _look_ at me.” 

She leans down, cupping his face in her hands like a saint bestowing a blessing, the only saint not to have abandoned him. “I would have helped you. You should have trusted me.” 

“Rilla, this was not about _trust_ \- Or it was, but it was about trust in _myself-_ ” 

As he flounders Arum join them on the floor, an arm around Damien’s waist and one stroking Rilla’s wrist. “I have reminded our honeysuckle that both of your attitudes to monsters have... changed, of late,” he says gently. “Or so I hope.” 

“You should have trusted me,” Rilla repeated. “You didn’t need to carry this all on your own. And I shouldn’t have been the last person to find out.” 

“Only by a few hours,” Arum yawns. 

“You looked after him?” Rilla confirms. She’s still furious, they can both tell that, but her hand keeps tracing the scar on Damien’s shoulder like she never wants to let go. 

Arum nods, and yawns again. “I have not run so far in a long time. Our little wolf kept me busy.” 

Rilla gives an exasperated sigh. “To bed, both of you. I’m still angry,” she adds, as the Keep, ever obliging to its favourite guest, opens a door for them. 

“As am I,” Arum points out, but his gruff words are belied with the tenderness in how he helps Damien to his feet. Arum locks eyes with Rilla as he does so, and they both nod. 

He returns soon after as she’s pacing around the workshop. Arum is as tired as Damien, but it’s not the same exhaustion. He’s awake enough and strong enough to let Amaryllis fall into his arms and not falter at her tears. “I would have brought him straight back to you,” he says, claws carding ever-so-gently through her hair. “But we had to wait until sunrise.” 

“ _Eight months,”_ The words emerge as half-sobs, “and you figure it out within weeks.” 

“I have met far more monsters than you,” he reminds her gently. “I know the marks of it. It was far harder for you, who knew him when he was just a man, to notice that change. It was always there for me.” 

“I was his _fian_ _c_ _ée_ _._ I should have known.” 

“He was terrified of hurting you. _Is_ terrified of hurting you. I well understand the feeling, even though _yes, Amaryllis,_ I know you are not _fragile.”_

He can’t speak of it, this terrible relief. Damien is strong for a human, strong enough to best Arum in half their duels, but even so... This comes as a welcome surprise, though one that he cannot rejoice in while his humans are suffering. He cannot take pleasure in something that causes Damien such grief as to chain and mutilate himself every full moon. No matter how... _gorgeous_ he is when he hunts. 

He almost shivers. Those _golden eyes._

“I could have helped him,” she repeats, “sedated him, looked for some kind of cure, or something to make it easier on him. I didn’t even _notice.”_

“He’s clever, our honeysuckle.” He presses his snout to Rilla’s cheek and she closes her eyes for a moment. “There is no cure,” he says after a while, and doesn’t miss her little hitch of breath. “But it can be managed, Amaryllis. There is _no_ need for him to injure himself. I can hunt with him, keep him out of danger...” 

“And what can _I_ do?” Of course, there is nothing his Amaryllis hates more than feeling useless. “I didn’t even notice, among all the other injuries...” 

“Right now he needs... rest. And reassurance. Just as you have to reassure me, sometimes, that you can really love a monster.” 

She leans her head against his shoulders with a sigh. “If that’s all I can do...” 

“And come to bed yourself,” he orders. “I think you’ve probably slept as much as I have.” 

She snorts, but relaxes against him as the Keep helpfully opens a new door to their bedroom. Damien is already collapsed into the pillows, too deeply asleep even to snore, and she curls around him like a shadow, one arm tucked around his waist as she buries the other in the cushions. 

Arum settles on his other side, mirroring Rilla. His tail curls around both of them. Damien’s wolf smell has lessened now. He scents the air around them and feels only the warmth of two human bodies next to him, Rilla’s perfume and Damien’s sweet sweat. It smells like _home._

Damien gives a quiet murmur (almost a growl) as he buries his face in Arum’s shoulder, pulling Rilla’s arm between them. The early morning is still and quiet. The moon has not yet set. When Damien opens his eyes, they are a rich brown once more, with mere flecks of gold in the centre. They meet Rilla’s. She’s watching him with the intense gaze of a scientist. 

“Can you forgive me?” He asks, soft as the rays of winter sun creeping through the window. 

She sighs, kisses him long and soft. “Go to sleep, Damien.” 

“I have to know,” he whispers. 

She trails a hand down his chest, stroking the hair that she should noticed growing thicker and curlier months ago. It’s a _good_ look on him. “Arum?” She asks, noticing their lover blinking awake slowly. “Do we forgive our... little wolf?” 

Arum’s mouth flicks into a surprised, devious little smile. “I think he has some penance to perform first, don’t you?” 

Damien _growls,_ and for once the sound does not make him shiver to his very bones because his lovers are laughing in delighted surprise and pressing kisses to his scars. All at once he finds they are transmuted, not hideous but lovelier than moonlight. 

It would have been unthinkable a mere season ago, but he is wiser now. A poet always looks for the beauty in life, and his life has become monstrously beautiful indeed. 

**Author's Note:**

> hey we're moth and lottie! you might remember we used to write a bunch of wolf 359 fics and now we're trying our hand at penumbra and also we're still madly in love. we even got a cat together. come say hi and/or yell at us for introducing the concept of werewolf dick on this the most holiest of days, lizard kissin' tuesday.
> 
> axtiasluna // lottiesnotebook


End file.
